


Write Your Story (with me) Bellarke / Bellamy and Clarke

by kristen_p



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Domestic Violence, F/M, Finn as evil, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Med Student Clarke, Minor Violence, Writer Bellamy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-01-18 23:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12398034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristen_p/pseuds/kristen_p
Summary: Clarke's relationship with Finn is going wrong, and she knows it. She's trying as hard as she can to get out of that relationship. She works at the bar as a day job while she studies to get into Med School. Hopefully if she can get her life together, she might get in.Bellamy came to Polis with one thing in mind: his writing. He needed a new place, a city, where his ideas can come to him. That's why he dragged Octavia and him to Polis. To make ends meet, he takes a job at a popular bar, the Ark.When he walks in, he sees Clarke, and their worlds collide.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! I'm trying a new fic to get back into regular writing. Let me know what you think, I LOVE comments! Thanks, and I hope I put enough trigger warnings. If not, please let me know and I will adjust. Always open to suggestions. Thank you for your feedback!

           Clarke slams the door to her apartment, racing to the bathroom. Finn had hit her again. This time, she’s done. She looks into the bathroom mirror, holding back a sob.

“Why do I stay with him?” she asks herself aloud, looking at the bruise forming on her cheek. She’s not sure she’ll be able to cover the bruise this time; people at work are starting to get suspicious, especially Raven. Her phone buzzes on the sink. She looks down and sees a flood of messages from Finn. Sighing, she opens them, still infuriated and in pain.

 

            _Finn: Babe, are you okay?_

_Finn: I’m so sorry Clarke. It won’t happen again._

           

“I’ve heard that one before,” she mumbles to herself, but keeps reading the messages.

 

_Finn: I really didn’t meant it Clarke, I am so torn up, I’m sorry. I just lost it for a second, that’s all._

_Finn: Please forgive me baby_

_Finn: … I’ll get those cupcakes you like_

_Finn: With extra icing!!_

 

The next message is a picture. Clarke opens it. It’s a picture of him with puppy dog eyes, flowers, and cupcakes.

_Finn: For my angel, from her very sorry boyfriend. Forgive me._

 

“Dammit, that’s why I stay,” she says quietly. Finn is all she knows, and they’ve been a pair so long Clarke can hardly remember a life without him. After her parents died, Finn was the one who was there, always lending an ear or providing a shoulder to cry on. When their friendship grew to something more, Clarke was not hesitant to fall on love with her best friend. The past year, though, something had changed between them. Finn seemed angrier, rougher, and a couple of months ago, their fights started to get out of hand. They would always fight about nothing, or something really stupid, but Finn would always go over the top, and recently he started to get violent.

“This is the third time and the last time,” Clarke says, sending Finn a kiss emoji and looking back into the mirror. Brushing her blonde curls out of her eyes, she examines the bruise. It’s blue-ish, and hurts badly. She pulls out cover-up, liquid foundation, and powder, preparing to hide it before work that afternoon. She can’t help the tears that stream down her face as she finishes covering up the damage.

It’s around lunchtime. Finn and Clarke had gone to breakfast, because Clarke usually works afternoons and nights at the local bar, The Ark. It’s not rare that Clarke gets bruises, but usually that’s after work at a rougher night at the bar. Going to work with bruises ahead of time is a different story. Hurrying to leave her apartment to get to the bar on time, she checks the mirror one last time.

“Never again,” she promises herself, patting down one last bit of powder over the bruise. She grabs her keys and rushes to the bar.

 

***

“Hey,” Clarke says as she enters the bar. It’s empty but for Raven, her fellow bartender, and Roan, the owner of the bar. Clarke sets her stuff on the bar counter and walks toward her best friend, grabbing a towel to help her clean off tables.

“Late again, Blondie. I thought you’d never come and I’d have to bartend alone tonight,” Raven says dramatically. Clarke loves Raven’s light-heartedness and snarky humor. She breaks into a small smile despite the pain it causes her cheek, and wipes down the bar.

“You know I’d never do that. Finn and I just took our time at breakfast, that’s all,” Clarke replies. Raven snorts.

“Yeah, sure. Next time you ‘take your time,’ at least bring me some hash browns as compensation. I’m starving.”

“You can eat the cupcake Finn will bring in later,” Clarke says. That gets Raven’s attention. She knows what cupcakes mean. They’ve been fighting again. Her demeanor changes, and a frown pulls at her lips. She walks over to Clarke, setting down her wash towel.

“What did you fight about this time?” she asks her friend. Clarke looks up at Raven, wanting to tell her what really happened, but too afraid to say it. Clarke can’t let anyone find out. Ever.

“It was nothing, just the same old stuff. He wants me to move in, I insist on staying in my apartment, bla bla bla,” she says. Raven puts a hand around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Clarke. Why don’t you want to move in with him? Not saying you should, I’m just wondering,” she asks.

“It… it just doesn’t feel right. I don’t know. It’s not the right time,” Clarke says, leaning into Raven. She holds back what she really wants to say: _Because then I couldn’t get away from him._

“It’ll be okay,” Clarke says aloud. Raven smiles and squeezes Clarke’s shoulders.

“That’s the spirit!” she says, and then she smacks Clarke playfully with the cleaning towel she picks up. “Now get back to work!” Clarke shoves her friend away, laughing, but her heart isn’t in it. Finn’s anger today has spiked fear through her veins that she can’t shake.

“We have to get everything looking nice for the new bouncer Roan hired. He’s starting tonight,” Raven says.

“New bouncer?” Clarke asks.

“Yeah, he’s supposed to be great… but I’ve got my eyes elsewhere,” Raven says, looking over to the office that Roan is working in. Her face reddens a bit. Clarke smiles, remembering the feeling of having a crush. She hasn’t really had a “crush” on Finn for a while.

“Raven?” she asks, but her friend is still staring.

“Earth to Raven,” Clarke says again, swiping at Raven’s feet with a broom.

“What?” she says, shocked back to reality. “What? Sorry.”

“What’s the bouncer’s name?”

Raven reaches under the bar for some papers, shuffling them around until the finds what she’s looking for. She finds the application paper and reads the name.

“Ummm… Bellamy Blake.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I'm trying a new fic to get back into regular writing. Let me know what you think, I LOVE comments! Thanks, and I hope I put enough trigger warnings. If not, please let me know and I will adjust. Always open to suggestions. Thank you for your feedback!

            At around 6:15, Bellamy walks into the bar. He’s supposed to get there at 6:30, but he wants to make a good impression. He needs this job to go well – he and his sister have been short on cash for a while, especially since Bellamy’s got writer’s block. Maybe if he actually gets some words down on paper, he can get something published. Ever since he and Octavia moved to Polis, no inspiration has come to him. It’s like he can’t make any stories here. The words are missing.

             _Focus, Bellamy. Get this job right, then you’ll have all morning every day to write._ Walking into the bar, The Ark, he is greeted by a huge, muscular man with long hair and scars.

            “Hi, uh… I’m looking for Roan Snow,” says Bellamy, trying not to be awkward. The large man crosses his arms and breaks into a smile.

            “You’re lookin’ at him,” says the man. Bellamy offers his hand for a handshake, and Roan grabs it hard.

            “Nice to meet you. I’m Bellamy Blake, the bouncer you hired,” he says, gaining some confidence. He can do this. He just needs the money. Roan slaps Bellamy on the back, pulling him deeper into the bar.

            “Welcome to the Ark, Bellamy. We’re gonna need to get a black shirt on you, the bouncers always wear black. But first, let’s head into my office,” Roan says, leading him through the place. As they make their way to an office room, they pass a couple girls cleaning tables. One with a dark brown ponytail and a wide smile, and a blonde with wavy hair.

            As Bellamy walks past them, the blonde looks up from the table she’s wiping down. Their eyes lock on one another, and Bellamy sucks in a quiet breath. _She’s beautiful,_ he thinks. Her lips pull together in a smirk.

            “Whatcha lookin at, bouncer?” the girl asks, cocking a hip and raising an eyebrow. Bellamy’s eyes shoot down and a blush creeps up on his cheeks.

            “Sorry, hi,” he manages. _Idiot, idiot, idiot._ The girl laughs, though, and his eyes wander back up to hers.

            “I’m Clarke,” she says, offering out the hand that isn’t holding a towel. “I’m a bartender here. So is Raven.” she gestures to the taller, darker girl behind her. The other girl, Raven, makes her way over.  

           “Finally, Roan hired another bouncer. Hopefully with you here, we won’t have as many people grabbing our asses for free drinks,” she says.

            Bellamy is a little shocked. “Does that… does that happen a lot?”

            Both of the girls nod.

            “More than you probably think,” Raven says, “so thank god Roan hired someone else. Ever since Polis has grown these past few years, we’ve got a _lot_ more people in this bar, and it’s harder to control.”

            “Okay, introductions over, we’ve got to finish up your paperwork before you start and the bar’s going to open soon. Come with me, Blake,” Roan says from a back doorway, and Bellamy walks off, with one last glance at Clarke. She’s looking back at him curiously.

            “She’s not single,” Roan whispers to him as he gets closer.

            “I wasn’t, I… It was just…” Bellamy stutters. Roan chuckles, slapping him on the back. _Why can’t I be cool for literally one second? Damn._

            “Sure, sure, Blake. Whatever you say. But I didn’t imagine that look,” he says. “Come on.”

            Bellamy Follows him into the room, and dammit if Roan isn’t right. With one look, Bellamy saw something special in Clarke. He follows Roan and tries to push her out of his mind. _I’m here to work,_ he reminds himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I'm trying a new fic to get back into regular writing. Let me know what you think, I LOVE comments! Thanks, and I hope I put enough trigger warnings. If not, please let me know and I will adjust. Always open to suggestions. Thank you for your feedback!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments and let me know what you think! What do you want to see in the story? Thanks so much for reading!!! <3 -Kristen

“What else needs to be done before we open?” Clarke asks Raven, putting the cleaning supplies under the bar. A solid hour of cleaning up from last night has Clarke sweating a bit.

            “Rearrange tables, get some bottles from the back, and I think that’s it!” Raven says happily, hopping up to sit on the bar. “And we’ve still got time to spare. Maybe a promotion is in our future.”

            “You mean your hopeful promotion to _girlfriend?”_ Clarke says quietly. Roan still sits in his office with Bellamy. Raven stares daggers at Clarke.

            “Shhhh!!!!! He might hear. Shut up about it, blondie. These things take time,” she says.

            “Sure, sure,” Clarke replies. As she puts the last towel away, the front door opens, letting in the evening light.

            “Look who it is,” says Raven, hopping off the bar and making her way to the door. Clarke straightens up and looks to the visitor.

            Finn.

            A spark of fear ignites in her gut, but she ignores it. _He’s come to apologize,_ she tells herself, _nothing is going to happen. Especially not in front of Raven._ But that doesn’t stop the spiral of uneasiness twisting inside her.

            “Hey baby,” Finn calls to Clarke, a small box in hand. Clarke manages to plaster a small smile on her face.

            “Hey,” she says.

            “About damn time, Finn,” Raven says, stopping Finn and taking the box.

            “Ooooohhh he even got the extra icing. You must have messed up, man,” she says casually. Finn frowns.

            _You have no idea how much he’s messed up,_ thinks Clarke.

            “Yeah, baby, I’m sorry. I know things got rough today, but we’ve been through worse,” he says, and comes over to where Clarke is standing, now in front of the bar.

            “I really messed up,” he says, placing a hand on the side of her head. Clarke inches away unnoticeably, so Raven is not suspicious. “I hope the cupcake can be a small part of my apology. I love you, Clarke, and I’m sorry about what happened.”

            Clarke nods, unable to really forgive him. She won’t say it’s okay, won’t let him off the hook. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

            Finn leans in close, excluding Raven and whispering only so Clarke can hear.

            “And, baby,” he says, anger seeping into his words, “if you tell her – or anyone – what is really happening here, you’ll regret it. Do _not_ tell them. There will be consequences if you do.”

            Ice shoots through Clarke’s veins, and she stands frozen in fear.

            Finn backs up, and steps away to take the cupcake box from Raven.

            "Here, baby,” he says, and hands the box to her. Her favorite cupcake. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

            “Yeah, yeah,” is all that escapes her lips. Finn smiles, nods, and kisses her on the lips before Clarke can turn away.

            “See you later, babe,” he says, and leaves the bar.

            “You okay, Clarke? Looks like you saw a ghost, not your boyfriend,” Raven says to her. Clarke snaps out of it, masking her fear with a short laugh.

            “Yeah. Yes, I’m fine,” she says. _I have to be. I can’t tell you._ She holds the cupcake box out to Raven, wishing for the other girl to take it. The last thing she needs is an apology cupcake from someone who isn’t sorry.

            “You sure? It’s your favorite, chocolate with extra icing,” Raven says, but Clarke nods.

            “Yes, I’m definitely sure, trust me. I’m not hungry at all,” she says, and so Raven takes it. Hopping onto the bar, she opens the box and inhales heavily.

            “Ah, yes, good sugar. Break time for me,” she says, lifting the pastry out of the box. Clarke manages a smile.

            “You take a break, I’ll go back and get the bottles we need for tonight, okay?” Raven nods her head, mouth full of cupcake.

            Clarke needs the back room, needs the silence and quiet, so she can let out the tears she’s holding back. She heads to the back.

 

***

 

            “Great!” says Roan. “Now that all the boring paperwork is done, let’s go ahead and get you started. I’m glad you’re able to work with us.”

            “I’m glad too,” says Bellamy. Roan offered to pay him more than he expected, and the Ark seems like it will be a perfect place to work.

             “I’m sure you’ll get plenty of stories to write about spending nights at this bar,” says Roan, standing up and straightening his shirt. Bellamy gets up as well.

             “I _did_ come to the city for more inspiration. And you’re probably right, this bar seems like the place to be,” he replies. The two make their way to the doorway of the office.

            “Extra black shirts are in the back on the bottom shelf in a box. Go find one for yourself, change in there, and we can get you on the floor! We open in….” Roan looks at his watch “thirty minutes.”

           “Sounds good, thanks,” says Bellamy. Roan puts his hand out to shake once more, and Bellamy takes it.

            “You’d better be able to take care of my girls out there,” Roan says.

           “Don’t worry, I am plenty capable.” Roan leaves Bellamy in the doorway and heads to the front.

_Black shirt, box in the back,_ thinks Bellamy. He’s still got nerves tightening in his stomach, but he feels better after speaking to the owner. He seems like a great guy. Now all he has to do is keep the job.

          He makes his way to the back room, down a dimly lit hallway with bathrooms on the left and right. A door that says “Employees Only” stands at the end of the hall. Bellamy pushes the door open, searching in the alcohol-filled room for a black shirt.

          “Here we go,” he says when he sees a cardboard box. He finds his size and pulls it out. When he begins to unbutton his shirt to change, he hears some scuffling and freezes.

_Why am I so jumpy? It was nothing,_ he tells himself. He pulls the rest of his shirt off, and is about to pull on the black t-shirt when he hears a small gasp. He turns quickly and finds himself face to face with Clarke.

            “Oh my god, I am so sorry,” she says, turning to leave.

            “No, no, I’m sorry!” Bellamy replies, pulling the shirt over his head quickly. “Did you need something back here? Sorry,” he says again. Clarke turns back a small smile pulling at her lips.

             “Nothing to be sorry for,” she says, glancing at his now covered torso. Her light cheeks redden at the words. Bellamy’s heartbeat skips. “I just came to get some bottles.” She nods to the racks of alcohol stacked up.

             “Want some help?” he asks. Clarke manages a smile and then a nod, but something seems wrong to Bellamy. Her smile doesn’t seem real. He doesn’t want to freak her out – he just met her – but he asks anyway.

             “You okay?” he asks as they pull down bottles of vodka, rum, and other liquor. Her eyes shoot to his, wide and green.

             “I… yeah,” she says. She reaches up for a bottle on the high shelf, her golden hair slipping past her shoulders. “What’s your favorite?” She asks.

            “What?” Bellamy thought they were talking about her. _She’s changing the subject._ Clarke grabs a bottle and holds it out to him.

            “Your favorite alcohol? Mine’s Jack,” she says, presenting him with the bottle of Jack Daniels.

            “Is it?” he says, a smile pulling at his lips. With his free hand, he runs his fingers through his dark curls. “What a coincidence, it’s mine too.” He takes the bottle from her. A sweet, real smile plays on Clarke’s lips. _Damn, she’s beautiful,_ he thinks. _Focus, Bellamy, she’s taken._

            “Now that I’m dressed—” Bellamy says with a smirk, “and we have plenty of booze, let’s go to the front. I need someone to show me the ropes, and you seem to know your way around.”

            “Oh, I rule this place,” she replies, handing him a few more bottles.

            “Oh, do you? Princess,” he says, bowing as best he can with a bunch of bottles in his arms. A giggle escapes Clarke, and then falters. _Something is still wrong,_ he thinks.

             “I do,” she says, “and I’ll show you around in a few. Take these bottles and I’ll meet you out there in a bit, okay?” She finishes piling the bottles precariously into his arms, her fingers brushing his skin.

              “See you in a few,” he says, stepping out of the back room, through the hallway, and into the main room of the bar.

            He pretends not to notice the tear stains on her face when she comes back out. He’ll ask her when she’s ready to tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments and let me know what you think! What do you want to see in the story? Thanks so much for reading!!! <3 -Kristen


	4. Chapter 4

           The bar is busy. It’s always somewhat crowded, but tonight it’s packed full of people, and Clarke can barely keep the drinks coming.

            “Another cherry mojito,” Raven shouts over the music from the counter, and then, “make that two!” Clarke grabs for the bottles to make the drinks and begins to prepare them.

            “Hey!” shouts someone from the counter. “Hey blondie! Two vodka tonics, please!” Clarke finishes the mojitos, hands them over to a frantic Raven, and then faces the customer, a man, mid-thirties.

            “You’re gonna have to wait your turn,” she says to him, nearly fed up with the constant shouting. She loves bartending – and she’s good at it – but she can’t stand rude people or screaming customers. She turns away from the man, going to prepare some vodka shots for the pair of girls at the end of the bar.

            “Hey!” the man says, and he grabs her wrist before she can turn away from him. “You’d better damn well listen to me, girl. Hear me?” Clarke pulse speeds up, and she says nothing. She attempts to pull her wrist out of his tight grip, but he won’t release her.

            “Let me go,” she says frantically, her mind shooting to horrible memories of Finn, of his violence.

            “I will if you’ll get me a damn drink,” says the man harshly. Clarke pulls at her arm again, but the man’s fingernails dig into her flesh.

            Clarke can’t control her breathing. Air is coming out in short, stifled gasps.

            “Do we have a problem?” asks a deep voice.

            _I know that voice,_ Clarke thinks, and the world comes back into focus. Bellamy stands beside her, his dark eyes staring daggers at the man on the other side of the bar.

            “This girl refuses to get me a drink,” the man says.

            “Get your hand off of her right now,” Bellamy says. His voice is murderous. Yet the man doesn’t let go.

            “You need to teach your bartenders how to friggin’ serve people,” he says.

            Bellamy acts too quickly for Clarke to see. Suddenly, the man’s hand is off of her wrist, and Bellamy has him by the collar – he’s practically lifting the guy off the ground across the bar.

            “Are you gonna walk out of here with your pride, or do I have to escort you like a child?” Bellamy asks, his face close to the other man.

            “I’ll leave,” the man replies, his voice quieter. Clarke senses a hint of fear in the man’s voice.

            “Good. Don’t come back here, you aren’t welcome,” says Bellamy, releasing the man’s collar, “and keep your filthy hands off of women.” With a resigned sigh, the man exits the bar, and then Bellamy is in front of Clarke, looking into her eyes and at her wrist for damage.

            “Are you alright?” he asks frantically, pulling her from behind the bar ad leading her toward the back. Clarke nods her head yes, but memories of Finn still fill her mind.

            “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she says, standing close to Bellamy in the crowded area. “I just, I kinda freaked out for a minute, that’s all. Thank god you were there, we really needed a new bouncer I guess.” Her heart is still pounding, but she feels safe.

            With Bellamy, she feels safe.

            “No one should ever treat somebody like that,” Bellamy says. Clarke can see the frustration in his eyes, the anger in the set of his lips.

            “He just grabbed my arm, Bellamy,” Clarke says.

            “Yes, _exactly._ He grabbed your arm. You said no. He should have let go. Shouldn’t have touched you in the first place,” he says. Some of his anger seems to dissipate, replaced by concern. “Are you okay? Can I see your arm?”

            And because Bellamy makes her feel safe, Clarke lifts her arm for him to examine. His fingers delicately wrap around her forearm, searching for the faint bruises and fingernail marks there.

            “Damn,” he whispers, and lightly rubs his fingertips over the tiny wounds.

            The feeling sends sparks up Clarke’s arm, making her unintentionally suck in a breath. She hopes Bellamy doesn’t notice. She tries to ignore the giddy feeling in her gut.

            “I’m so sorry I wasn’t paying enough attention,” Bellamy says, letting go of her and glancing into her eyes. She stares back up into his, beautiful and brown and honest.

            “It won’t happen again,” he says. Clarke doesn’t feel the need to say anything, so she simply nods.

            Because, no matter what he says, he can’t really keep it from happening again. Not when she’s alone with Finn. Anxiety tightens her throat, and Clarke attempts to stifle it.

            When she’s around Bellamy, she’s safe. For now, that will have to do.

            _And,_ she says to herself, _I made myself a promise. I won’t take any more of it from Finn. If he ever hurts me again, I’m out._

“Do you think you can go back over there?” Bellamy asks her.

            “Yeah,” she replies, a small smile pulling at the edges of her lips. She can do this. Bartenders are strong. She’s strong. And there’s nothing to be afraid of, at least not tonight with Bellamy there.

            They return to the bar, and Clarke re-enters the madness, taking drink orders and mixing them like crazy. Bellamy only has to step in a couple more times that night, and Clarke keeps her cool. She makes a lot of tips, and chats with Raven about Roan. The night passes with no other big incidents.

            The one thing she can’t stop thinking about, though, is the comfort and safety she feels around Bellamy Blake. Clarke tries to shake the feelings she has about him, but she can’t.

            Seeing him makes her smile.

            And that might be a problem – a big one.

 

***

 

            “How was the first night?” Octavia calls from the couch when Bellamy opens the door. He goes to set his things on the counter, and takes a deep breath.

            “It was good, O. Thanks. And you really didn’t have to stay up the whole night waiting for me, you know. _I’m_ the older sibling who has to take care of _you,_ not the other way around,” he says, flopping down on the black fabric couch next to his little sister.

            “You would forget to wear shoes if I didn’t set them in front of your door every day, Bell,” she says, and Bellamy chuckles. She’s right. “Plus, I just binge-watched a ton of _Scandal,_ so I was totally fine staying up, it was no big deal.”

            She flips the TV off and throws her feet up onto Bell’s lap.

            “Anything interesting happen? Any super-drunk chicks, bar fights, anything?” she asks. Bellamy breathes in and out, debating whether or not to tell O about what happened. She’s a bit dramatic.

            “This guy tried to rough up one of our bartenders, so I had to step in to help her,” he says. He leans his head on the back of the sofa.

            “Oh my god, really? What happened? Wow, big brother, you’re such a protector!” Octavia says, giggling. Bellamy tickles the bottom of her feet, trying to match her mood but still feeling upset.

            “Cut it out, O. By the time I got there, he already had his hands on her. I’m not that good of a bouncer. And she looked really shaken up, too. Damn!” he says, running his fingers roughly through his hair. Bellamy remembers the terrified look in Clarke’s eyes, the fingernail marks on her skin. Octavia lowers her feet to the floor and adjusts so she’s closer to Bellamy.

            “Hey, Bell, it’s going to be okay. It was your first night, alright? Something was bound to go wrong. You’ll be more aware next time. Shit like that happens, and sometimes you just can’t help it,” she says. Her words make sense, but that doesn’t ease the anxiety clawing at him. Clarke got hurt. That’s on him. And it won’t happen again.

            “Okay, O. It’s late – or early – or whatever, and we should definitely get to bed. When do your classes start? I forget,” he says, standing up and reaching a and out to her. She puts her hand in his and he helps her stand.

            “Relax, big brother. Classes at the university don’t start for a few weeks. And,” she adds, “making her way to her room, “you need to spend less time worrying about me, and more time focusing on your writing. The novels aren’t going to write themselves, you know.”

            With that, Octavia heads into her room and her door slides shut.

            Maybe Octavia’s right. Maybe he should try some writing. Bellamy steps into his own room. Sitting down on his bed to write, he grabs his pen and notebook – he can’t seem to think as clearly while typing, so he always handwrites first.

            And, despite several ideas rifling around in his head, the only words he can get down on paper are about a beautiful, strong, blue-eyed, blonde bartender.

            _I might be in trouble…._  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, but this is a good one! It's also longer. Hope you all enjoy! Love you all, thanks for reading! Comment pls! <3 Kristen


	5. Chapter 5

 

            “Please come, Clarke! I swear I just want to buy you some breakfast. Nothing else. We won’t talk about moving in. I won’t mention anything stupid, and nothing will happen. I promise. Won’t you just come outside? I’m waiting in the car,” Finn says. Clarke wants to hang up the phone and go back to bed, but for some reason, she can’t.

“I’m coming down,” she says, “but give me five minutes.” She hangs up. Part of her choice to go was from fear, and part of it – the stupid part, probably – is the hope that maybe he’s still the Finn she fell in love with, the best friend she once loved.

            Throwing on jean cutoffs, a t-shirt, and a light sweatshirt, she heads into her bathroom.

            _I look like a disaster, and I don’t care,_ she thinks to herself. Quickly, she pulls her curly blonde strands into a messy bun.

            “That will have to do,” she says aloud. And if Finn doesn’t like it, he can go find himself another damn girlfriend. She grabs her bag and heads out the door.

 

***

 

            Bellamy is the first one she sees upon entering the local café with Finn. He seems to be deep into his writing – glasses pushed up onto his nose, extra pen behind his ear, empty coffee cup – but when the entrance bell rings, he looks up from his works and sees her. Clarke’s pulse speeds up – again – and a grin pulls at her lips. Finn, behind her, doesn’t notice. Hopefully.

            Bellamy’s smiling too when their eyes meet, his eyes boring into hers.

            “Long time no see, Princess,” Bellamy says. He is a few tables away, but Clarke walks over to say hi, closing the space between them.

            “Oh, I know, right? It’s been what, 10 whole hours?” she says, smiling. Then she notices that Bellamy is not alone.

            _Oh my gosh, he’s got a girlfriend,_ she thinks. Why is she upset about that? She shouldn’t be upset about that. That’s great for him. Plus, she’s got a boyfriend anyway.

            A boyfriend standing in this café. Dammit.

            “Clarke?” comes Finn’s voice from the other side of the small café. “Table’s open over here, babe.” She hates it when he calls her that. From him, it always sounds so possessive, so controlling. She flashes a smile back at Bellamy.

            “Good to see you. And I guess I’ll see you in a few hours?”

            “Absolutely!” he responds, his smile lighting up his face. Clarke manages a quick wave, and walks over to where Finn sits at a table. She tries not to think about the beautiful, mysterious, dark-haired girl sitting with Bellamy, or the fact that he looks really cute with glasses. She fails.

 _You’re with Finn,_ she tells herself. _Love him._

             But she can’t. She can’t make herself love the person he’s become. The person she now fears.

 _I’ve got to end it with him,_ she tells herself. But not yet. _Today, I’ll think on it. I’ll prepare._ She has to think this through. No snap decisions.

            “Well? Clarke? Who the hell was that guy?” Finn says a bit angrily. Clarke has been sitting across from him, totally zoned out. She plasters a fake smile on.

              “Um, it’s fine, he’s – a guy from work,” she says, staring down at her hands.

             “Are you okay?”

             “Yeah! Yeah. Sorry. I’ve just got a lot on my mind right now,” she tells him. Finn chuckles and leans back in his chair.

             “ _Do_ you, now? And what could a bartender possibly have on her mind?”

              “Plenty,” she responds, holding back her frustration. He thinks so little of her because of her job. She’s told Finn over and over again that she’s trying for Med School, but he doesn’t seem to take it seriously. She just needs to save up some money first.

               “Sure, Clarke,” he says, and waves his hand through the air. “Waitress?! We haven’t been helped yet.” Clarke feels bad for the poor waitress who has to walk over to serve Finn.

 

***

 

            As soon as Clarke walked into the diner with her boyfriend, Bellamy knew something wasn’t right with the relationship.

            Before his mother died, Bellamy had seen her go through one bad relationship after the next. She always chose bad men.

            And the way Clarke looked coming into the café was the same way Bellamy’s mother used to look – scared, nervous, trapped.

            “You haven’t put your pen to the paper since the moment that girl walked in the door, Bell. Something wrong?” asks Octavia.

            Her voice shocks him back into reality.

            “No,” he replies quickly, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Sorry O, just got distracted. That was the girl from last night, the bartender. I’m all good.” he picks up his pen again, but the words for his story have disappeared.

            “Wait,” says O, “ _That’s_ the girl? The one you saved?”

            “ _Saved_ isn’t how I would put it,” he says. He glances over to Clarke with her hair pulled up effortlessly, beautifully. Octavia kicks him under the table.

            “Oh god, Bell. You’re in love. And you’re checking her out when her actual boyfriend is sitting across from her. Damn, big brother,” she says.

            Bellamy rips his eyes away from Clarke and refocuses on his sister.

            “First of all, I am _not_ in love with her. And second of all, I was _not_ checking her out,” he says, “but you’re right, she’s already taken.”

            “Yup,” replies Octavia, and then she shoves a forkful of hash browns into her mouth.

            “Yeah,” she says, mouthful of potatoes, “this move was a great idea. I could eat these hash browns forever.” Bellamy smiles, glad to know that his sister doesn’t resent him too much for uprooting their lives.

            “Good,” he says, grabbing her still-full coffee cup and taking a sip. “I think I like Polis. We might stay.”

            “And maybe someday she’ll love you,” Octavia says in a sing-song voice. Bellamy rolls his eyes and ignores her, but a smile pulls at his lips.

            Bellamy forces Clarke out of his thoughts and tries to refocus on the task-at-hand: writing. He picks up his pen and puts words on paper. And thankfully, they come.

            Before he knows it, he’s written two full scenes of his novel, and the rest of Octavia’s coffee has disappeared.

            “What time is it, O?” he asks. She looks up from the book she’s been reading – The Art of War – and meets his eyes.

            “Huh?”

            “What time is it? How long have I been writing?” Octavia fishes through her purse until she finds her phone.

            “Noon, Dang, we’ve been here for three hours,” she says.

            Because he can’t resist, Bellamy glances over to where Clarke was sitting with her boyfriend. They’re still there.

            “Damn, man, you got it _bad,”_ Octavia says. Bellamy shoots a quick glare at his annoying (but correct) little sister, but then refocuses his attention on Clarke. Something seems wrong between her and her boyfriend. Bellamy gets that strange warning feeling again, that one that reminds him of his mom.

            “Do they look okay?” he asks Octavia. His sister puts down her book and gazes over to the couple. They sit by the window, across from one another at the table.

            “They seem alright to me,” she says in response. But Bellamy isn’t convinced. Clarke has one hand holding her forehead, and Finn seems to be whispering worriedly at her. Clarke isn’t even looking at him. She’s looking down at her breakfast plate – which, Bellamy notices, is untouched.

            “I don’t know,” he says quietly. “It seems like something is up.” But when he looks over to Octavia, she’s back in her book. Bellamy smiles and laughs to himself. She always moves pretty quickly from one thing to the next, and Bellamy loves her for that.

            But something about Clarke is still bugging him. It’s probably nothing, but he can’t get her out of his mind.

            When he tries to get back to work on his writing, Clarke’s boyfriend stands abruptly, grabbing Bellamy’s attention. His face is a shade of dark red, and his hands are balled into tight fists. Seeing this, Bellamy is immediately on edge. What could make him so angry?          

            He grabs his phone and wallet off the table and exits the café without so much as a backwards glance at Clarke, who seems to be frozen in place, still staring at her untouched plate.

            What happened?

            Bellamy sets his pen down and begins to get up before Octavia’s hand stops him.

            “Wait,” she says, holding his arm. “Are you sure you want to get involved in this? It looks messy, Bell, and that guy? Well, he looks like trouble.”

            She has a point, but one look over at Clarke convinces him to go over to her. He has to. She’s got something about her that he can’t ignore.

            “I’ve got this, O. I’m sure I want to do this,” he says, and Octavia lets go.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Sorry for the wait! This chapter is going to start some drama, so get ready! The next one is well under way, so get excited! Let me know if you like it, I love feedback! Thanks for reading!! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the long wait, but here it is! This chapter is pretty intense, so be warned. Love you all and thanks a ton for reading! Please comment!!

 

            “Hey,” comes his voice, and Clarke looks up to see Bellamy standing at the edge of the table. She quickly blinks a few times, hoping she doesn’t look too much like she’s been crying. Dammit. He probably saw everything.

            “Hi!” she tries to add some pep to her voice, but by the way he’s looking at her, he knows better. He gestures to the seat, asking silently, and she nods for him to take it.

            “You haven’t eaten a thing,” he chuckles, glancing at her untouched plate. Clarke shrugs.

            “Not really hungry I guess. He ordered for me, and didn’t quite get it right, if I’m being honest,” she confesses, moving some scrambled eggs around with her fork.

            “He doesn’t know what you like? How long have you been together? And come on, who doesn’t like eggs? It’s Breakfast 101, Princess,” he says. She smiles and hands him her fork.

            “It’s all yours, then. And actually, we’ve been together for a few years now. My preferences just… changed, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him.”

            He takes a mouthful of eggs, and Clarke glances at is messy hair, his glasses slipping down his nose. Dark freckles are splashed across his face.

            “Well,” he says, looking back up from the plate, “What’s your favorite, then?”

            “My favorite what?”

            “Your favorite breakfast food! There’s gotta be something you like,” he says. He pushes his glasses up and takes another mouthful of eggs.

            “French Toast,” she says, leaning her chin on her hands and leaning forward, “with peanut butter.” Bellamy’s eyes widen.

            “Interesting,” he says, “but food for a princess, I suppose.” The waitress approaches the table to check on everything.

            “Can I get you guys anything else?” she seems a bit confused by the change of people at the table, but says nothing. Bellamy eyes Clarke and raises an eyebrow.

            “Yes, actually,” Clarke says, “French toast with peanut butter.” The waitress smiles, writes it down, and heads to the kitchen. Clarke sips her coffee, looking anywhere but at Bellamy. He definitely knows something. And they’ve burned through all the small talk.

            “It’s probably not my place,” he starts, “but… is everything okay? He kinda… well, he kind of stormed out of here. And did he drive you here? Do you even have a ride home?”

            “I… it’s fine,” she says. Of course she couldn’t hide it. It was so obvious that she’s having problems with Finn. She should _never_ have come out with him this morning.

Her palms sweat. The last words Finn said to her before leaving the table echo in her head: _Clarke, you’re really impossible. You really don’t care. All you see in me is a monster, but you’re not perfect either._ He stormed out after that, leaving her with no ride home and tears gathering in her eyes. Bellamy’s voice brings Clarke back to the present, and she takes a few quick breaths.

            “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset. I’m sorry. It’s not my business. I just… it seems like there might be more going on here,” he says, setting the fork down and looking at her intently.

            _He knows. He has to know something, or suspect,_ Clarke thinks. _He came in with that pretty brunette girl and wants to come talk about all my relationship problems? No. No way._

            “You’re right,” she says, pulling her purse onto her lap, “It’s _not_ your business. And I can take care of it _myself_.” Clarke’s eyes blaze with frustration, and Bellamy looks back at her, eyes apologetic and fingers pulling at his collar. The waitress arrives with the French toast and sets it in front of Clarke.

            “Here you are! Anything else I can get for you two?” she asks, chipper as ever. Clarke looks up at her and her red curls.

            “No, we’re fine. Thank you,” Clarke replies. The waitress walks away.

            “Clarke, I—”

            “Save it, Bellamy.” She sets a $20 on the table and pulls her purse over her shoulder, standing. “The French toast is all yours. Since you’re so interested in my life, you might as well try my favorite breakfast.” She stalks away, through various tables, before Bellamy calls out to her.

            “Do you need a ride?” he asks. She halts, but doesn’t turn around.

            “I’ll figure something out,” she replies, and pushes through the Café doors. “I always do,” she mumbles to herself as the door clicks shut behind her.

 

***

            “Oooh! French toast! Is that peanut butter?” Octavia asks when Bellamy brings the plates over to their table. She picks up the fork as he sets the plate down and digs in.

            “You okay? That didn’t look like it went well,” she says, mouth full of carbs.

            “That’s because it didn’t,” he replies, hanging his head in his hands and letting out a breath. “I know there is bad stuff going on. It’s not hard to see. And I get why she wants to deal with it on her own. It’s totally her right to do that, too. I barely know her. But… it’s just hard to see people go though bad shit and not be able to do anything about it.”

            Octavia’s hand rests on one of his. He looks up into her eyes, very similar to his own.

            “Hey, mom got through her shit eventually. It was hard to see her go through it, but she had to do it on her own or she was just going to keep going back to those guys. Maybe your girl—”

            “Clarke,” he corrects her, “and obviously not _my_ girl.”

            “Fine. Maybe Clarke just needs to figure some of it out on her own like mom. Be there when you can, but let her make her own choices. She seems like an independent person.”

            “She is,” he mumbles. “That’s easy to tell.” Octavia’s hand falls from his, and she preoccupies herself with the French toast once again. The girl eats more than a teenage boy, but remains thin as a board.

            Bellamy looks down at the table, his notebook, the food, but can’t distract himself from Clarke. How is she even going to get home?

            “Let her figure out her shit,” Octavia says, “Then she’ll realize what a catch you are, big brother.”

            Bellamy doesn’t think so, but keeps his mouth shut. Clarke, dating him? Too good to be true.

 

***

            Clarke knocks on Finn’s apartment door. No response. She walked all the way over here from the café. No bus. No taxi. He left her. And he’s not home.

            _He’s probably out terrorizing children somewhere._

She knocks again, fed up. She’s made up her mind: she and Finn are finished. Today.

            “I said I’d figure it out. Ending it with him is the first step,” she says aloud to herself. She turns the door to his apartment and the door swings open. _Not surprising. He’s never careful._ Entering the apartment, Clarke stalks over to the bedroom. The door stands open, revealing a messy room with clothes all over the floor.

            “I guess I’m the only one who cleans around here,” she says. “But not anymore, asshole.” Clarke steps over clothes, chip bags, and old coffee cups to the wooden chest of drawers. She opens the top drawer and peers down into all her stuff. Her drawer at his house. She reaches for some of the stuff, ready to fill the grocery bag she found to take it all back home, but hesitates.

            _He threatened to hurt me if I told anyone what he did. What will he do if I leave him?_ Uneasiness spreads through her, but after a deep breath, Clarke reaches in and grabs some of her stuff.

            No matter what he does, Clarke can take it. She just needs to _get out._ He has changed, her feelings have changed, and their relationship has become a twisted web of manipulation. And he hit her. It’s over.

            She pulls out clothes, extra underwear, makeup, hair ties, and other things left in his drawer. As she closes it, she hears footsteps in the hallway.

            Shit. _Shit, shit, shit, why did I think I was strong enough to do this?_ But she has to be. Clarke ties the straps of the grocery bag – she has all of her stuff back – and wipes her sweaty palms on her shirt. The confrontation is inevitable.

            “Clarke?” asks Finn confusedly from the hallway. She can do this. Maybe. “What’s going on? What’s in that bag?” He has made his way through the apartment, and stands in the bedroom doorway. Clarke’s heart beats hard. Her veins turn to ice. Memories of his hand striking her face flash in her head. What will he do to her?

            _It doesn’t matter. I just have to get out of this relationship, and then out of here._

            “Clarke?” she hasn’t answered him. His hands are empty, but she sees grocery bags in the hallway. He was out shopping.

            “I… it…” she begins, but no more words come out.

            “Did you come to move in? To say sorry for being crazy? We’ve been dating for years now—”

            “I can’t,” she blurts, and she feels her own face pale. She has to do this. She has to stand up for herself.

            “You can’t what? Move in? You’ve said that enough times for me to get it, dammit,” he says, taking a step into the room. Clarke steps back.

            “No, I can’t move in, and… and I also just _can’t,_ Finn! I can’t be with you anymore. I… I can’t.”

            Silence hangs in the air for several moments, and both Finn and Clarke are frozen in place. Finn speaks first.     

            “What do you mean you can’t be with me?” his voice is controlled, barely. Clarke can feel the anger coming off of him. But she’s gone too far now – there’s no going back.

            “Finn, you’re so important to me, and I _love_ you, but—”

            “You’re breaking up with me?” He takes another step toward her, and she can’t take another step back – he’s crowded her up against the bed. She has to get herself out of his way without him noticing. Or shit’s going to hit the fan.

            “Finn, we were great for so long, but I think things have changed. I don’t… I don’t think I’m good for you anymore,” she says, grabbing onto the first lie that comes to her. The truth? He’s the one that’s no good. _He should never have hit me. I should have left him the moment it happened._

“Is this because of that new bouncer at work? Are you cheating? I figured you’d be the kind of bitch to cheat,” he says.

            “No! It’s not! This is because of _you_ , Finn! You didn’t used to be like this!” the words are out of her mouth before she is able to stop them, and Finn’s hands grab for her.

            She dives out of the way, toward the door and away from the bed, still holding her bag of clothes. She’s not fast enough. He slams her into the doorway, pinning down her upper arms. Clarke releases a startled yelp, and then unsuccessfully attempts to free herself. Finn’s arms are like steel. Unrelenting.

            “Finn,” she says frantically, “Let me go. You don’t want to do this.”

            “Oh I definitely do. I used to be able to trust you, you know! Now you’re off with some guy from work, and I’m left behind like an idiot. How stupid do you think I am, Clarke? We’ve been together for so long, and _I_ was the one there for you when your parents died. Not anyone else! Me!” he shouts in her face. Clarke trembles, but doesn’t cry. She won’t give him that satisfaction.

            “Let me go,” she says, “Finn, we had something great. And now, it’s over. We’ve changed – both of us – and it’s just not meant to happen for us. Please, let go.” His fingernails dig marks into her skin, but he doesn’t let go.

            “You’re nothing without me,” he says, putting his face close to hers. She shrinks away from his grasp, trying to escape.

            “Better to be nothing than to be with someone who hits me,” she says, and finally finds some strength. Her knee comes up between his legs, hard, and he screams in pain. His hands let her go, and she drops her bag of stuff. _It doesn’t matter,_ she tells herself.

            She’s at the front door of the apartment before he catches up to her.

            “You’re going to regret this, Clarke,” Finn says, and Clarke spins around at hearing his proximity.

            Before she can register what’s happening, his hand – fingers splayed – comes flying toward her face. The pain is quick and surprising, and she immediately feels the four deep scratches left behind.

            She pushes her way out of the door and into the afternoon light.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! So sorry this took a while! I took a break for the holidays, and then had a surgery, and then school started back up again, so I've been pretty busy! But I'm back, and excited to be writing again! I'm thinking this fic will be 13-15 chapters, just so you all know! I might make it a bit longer, but we'll see. Thank you for reading, and as always, comment!! Tell me what you think! Let me know any suggestions you have!! Love you guys!!
> 
> ps a LOT happens in this chapter so get READY

Makeup won’t cover it.

            “Dammit!” Clarke shouts at the mirror, dabbing cover up on the scratches along her cheek. They’re not exactly bleeding, but they’re a dark red and painful to the touch.

            Glancing at her phone on the bathroom counter, Clarke sees that she needs to be at work in 30 minutes – the drive is fifteen. She picks up her phone and googles.

            “ _Green_ foundation covers scratches?” she asks, scrolling through the search results. _I can’t believe I’m searching this._ The thought hits her, and she sets down her phone. Her heart starts pounding. She shouldn’t hide this. She shouldn’t _have_ this – these scratches. “How did my life get this fucked up?”

            She begins to panic, her breaths coming out in short gasps. Not really knowing what to do, she sits down on the bathroom floor. A few tears escape, but not many. Her breathing returns to normal, and she manages to stand back up. She’s not missing work because of this.

            Before she can refocus on makeup, her phone buzzes. Raven.

 

_Raven: You coming? Late again, blondie?_

_Clarke: I’ll be there! …Single._

 

A few seconds pass, and then her phone buzzes like crazy.

           

            _Raven: WHAT_

_Raven: OH MY GOD_

_Raven: WHAT HAPPENED??!?! CALL NOW_

 

Clarke ignores the texts and refocuses on her makeup. Rifling through her makeup drawer, she finds some old green eyeshadow.

            “It’s not foundation, but it’s something,” she says to herself, looking for an applicator. Finding one, she dabs some of the shadow onto the four scratches along her left cheek, wincing slightly at the pain. She then covers the shadow with foundation, packing it on a little more than she normally does. Once more she examines herself in the mirror. Black tank top, tight jeans, hair up, and the scratches finally covered.

            “The worst is over,” she says to her reflection. “It’s over.” Maybe she’ll tell Raven the truth someday. Maybe she’ll be able to talk about it. But not today. Today she’s got to sell some drinks and get some good tips. She pulls her tank top down a bit – easy money.

            _I can do this._ She shoves away the thoughts that want to suffocate her. She just needs to make it through the shift. Hurriedly, she picks up her purse, shoves her phone in, and pulls her keys out.

            She’s only five minutes late.

 

***

 

            Bellamy can’t really focus. Roan has been talking for 10 whole minutes about watching the door and describing the regulars he often has to kick out, but Bellamy doesn’t hear him.

            That morning at the café replays over and over in his mind. Clarke’s fight with Finn, his mysterious disappearance, and her eventual exit. She shut him out. Of course she did. She doesn’t even know Bellamy. He’s only been around for a couple of days.

            _She’s probably fine,_ he tells himself. That doesn’t keep him from worrying. _If she is really in trouble like mom was, she’ll tell Raven. Right?_ But he can’t convince himself.

            “Blake?” Roan’s voice shakes him into the present. His eyes meet the owner’s.

            “Yeah? Sorry,” he says, running a hand down his face. He needs this job. He can’t screw it up, not worrying about a girl with a boyfriend.

            “Monty and Jasper are going to be here tonight and monitor the door, check IDs and stuff. Since it’s a Saturday, it’ll be busier than last night,” he says, and Bellamy can’t believe it.

            “Busier? Is that possible?” his eyebrows raise. Roan nods.

            “The city is getting larger every day, and I’m lucky to have a good bar with good employees,” Roan says, slapping Bellamy’s shoulder and smiling. Bellamy returns the smile. Roan did hire good employees – with gorgeous blonde hair and blue eyes…

            “You good to go tonight? People get pretty rowdy past 2am,” says Roan. Bellamy nods seriously. He’s not letting what happened yesterday happen again. He can still picture the fingernail marks on Clarke’s arm.

            “Hell yes I’m good,” Bellamy says.

            “Let’s hope we don’t get too many scumbags.”

            “We can always dream,” Bellamy says.

            Clarke steps through the door, and Bellamy and Roan look to her from where they are standing near the center of the bar. A small smile ghosts her face.

            “Sorry I’m a few minutes late,” she says, a bit breathless, “Uh, traffic.” Roan chuckles but says nothing.

            “Oh my god,” comes Raven’s voice from behind Bellamy. She rushes through the empty bar floor to Clarke, whispering frantically to her friend. After a minute, she turns back to Bellamy.

            “Lurk much, freckles? We’re having a conversation here,” Raven says angrily. Bellamy shakes his head quickly back and forth.

            “I uh… sorry,” he replies. Like Clarke said earlier at the café – it’s not his business. He realizes then that Roan has left and returned to his office. Bellamy follows after him, needing to escape the girls’ vision.

            As Bellamy closes the office door behind him, Roan lifts his head from paperwork.

            “Clarke and Finn… they’re complicated. He was there for her when her parents died and her life went to shit… they’ve got history, you know? Nowadays, he treats her like garbage, but she can’t quite see that yet, I guess. She’s too good for his immature crap,” Roan says. Bellamy sinks into the soft black chair across from Roan’s desk.

            “I haven’t been here long, but it doesn’t take long to see that he doesn’t treat her right. I just wish…”

            “You just wish you could fix it. I know, Blake. I’ve tried. Raven’s tried. Hell, even Monty tried to tell her that Finn changed. She’s bull headed. She’ll see it in her own time,” he cuts in.

           Bellamy runs a hand through his dark curls. “Yeah,” he says, “she certainly won’t – didn’t – listen to me.” He glances out the office window to the interior of the restaurant, where Clarke sits on top of the bar and Raven stands in front of her. There’s more going on than Roan knows. There’s got to be more to the story. Through the window, Clarke holds her head in her hands, and Raven pats her friend on the back.

         “Go to the back and grab some bottles. Maybe doing some work will get your head focused on something other than Clarke,” Roan says, picking up a pen and turning his attention back to his paperwork.

          Bellamy opens his mouth to refute the man, but doesn’t. He’s right. He pushes out of Roan’s office, and before Bellamy knows it, people filter into the bar.

 

***

           After her talk with Raven, Clarke feels freer. She has scratch marks on her face, she’s just ended her longest relationship, and tips are pretty low tonight, but despite it all, Clarke feels a sense of freedom that she hasn’t felt in so long. Years, probably. When she got to the Ark, she sat on the bar with Raven – cried a little, laughed some, and promised her best friend that she would tell her everything soon.

          For the first time in years, she doesn’t feel Finn lurking in the back of her mind. That feeling she always had that he’s watching her every move – it’s gone now.

          “Two bud lights and a few tequila shots!” Raven calls from the counter, and Clarke smiles, turning to the bottles and the tap behind her. As she pours the drinks, she spots Bellamy out of the corner of her eye. He stands right by the counter, vigilant in case he is needed.

          Guilt builds up inside her stomach. She shouldn’t have stormed out like that this morning, no matter the circumstances. He glances her way, then immediately looks to the floor. She’ll talk to him later, and apologize. But right now…

          “Here you go, Raven,” Clarke says over the loud music as she holds out the two beers, “let me grab the shots, one second.” Raven takes the drinks and Clarke turns around to get the shot glasses, but is met with Monty’s eyes, wide open and frantic-looking.

          “Hey Monty, you good? Can you hand me those shots behind you really quick?” she says, tucking stray hairs behind her ear. He’s looking at her weird. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, lips pursed.

          “Monty? What?” she asks, fear beginning to curl in her chest.

          “It’s Finn,” he spits out the name like it’s dirt, “he wants to talk to you. Says you two got in a fight.”

           Clarke tries to calm her nerves, but fails. The freedom and lightness she felt moments ago is replaced by a sickly feeling and a bad taste in her mouth.

          “We didn’t get in a fight, Monty. I dumped him. We’re done,” she says. She edges around him to grab the shot glasses for Raven. “And Finn knows that. So you can go tell him to piss off. I’m busy trying to make money.”

          She walks over to hand the shots to Raven and gets a few more drink orders. When she turns around again, Monty is still standing there.

         “Monty! Go check IDs or kick Finn’s ass or something. I’ve got drinks to make.”

         “Clarke—”

          “What?” She says, grabbing the rum from a high shelf.

          “He’s got your dad’s watch, Clarke. He says he wants to talk out back.”

          The world slows, and Clarke sets down the bottle and turns back to Monty. Even with the bumping music and the loud roar of customers, the bar seems to have gone completely silent around Clarke.

           Her dad’s watch is the only thing left she has from her father – from her parents at all. The state took nearly everything except for some money.

           And Finn has the watch. It must have been in that bag of stuff at his house – and now he’s using it as leverage.

           “Where is he?” she asks Monty, looking up at her friend.

           “Out front. Jasper didn’t let him in. Clarke!” She’s already moving toward the door. “Jasper didn’t let him in because he’s totally trashed, Clarke. It’s not a good idea to go see him, at least not alone. Clarke, I’m serious!”

          “I don’t care,” she says, sidestepping her way through the hordes of people.

          “Clarke?” a new voice says her name. New, but familiar.

          Bellamy stands in her way, looking down at her with worried brown eyes.

         “Out of my way, Bellamy,” she says, trying to sidestep him. He follows her movements.

          “Bellamy,” she says with venom, “move.”

           But he keeps standing there, silently. She tries to slip through the crowd one more time, but runs into a body and a drink splashes into her face.

          “Shit!” she exclaims, and Bellamy reaches out to steady her, holding onto her forearms. Wiping her face on her tank top, she glares up at him. This is his fault, anyway. “Thanks a lot, asshole. Now _please_ get out of my way.”

          But he steps closer to her, his chest brushing against hers, and his expression changes. His fingers drop from her forearms.

          “What the hell?” he asks, studying her.

           Shit.

          The scratches. Her makeup must have come off.

          “Did he do this to you? Clarke?” his fingers reach up to her face, but he doesn’t touch her.

          Clarke can’t form words. Anger, fear, and shame all cross her mind. She decides to play it off and get to Finn.

          “Bellamy, it’s fine, just leave it alone, please,” she manages to say. She looks down at the floor, shame coloring her face.

          “Clarke,” he starts.

          “No, Bellamy. Not now. I have to go talk to him. I have to get that watch back,” she pushes past him, the strobe lights and loud music flooding back into her senses.

          “Talk to him? What, now?” Bellamy’s voice comes from behind her. She should have expected him to follow her.

         “Yes, now. Just let me go, Bellamy,” she shouts over her shoulder. He stops following her then, and Clarke pushes out of the front door of the Ark.

 

***

 

            Bellamy’s going to kill the bastard. As soon as he saw the scratch marks on her face, everything clicked. Bellamy had suspected the truth but hoped he wasn’t right. He knows now that he was. Finn’s a dead man walking.

            The music and lights pulse around him, and he pushes toward the front door toward Clarke, who’s left the building. If Finn hurts her again… Bellamy’s self control is running out.

            He won’t stop Clarke from talking to Finn – she still has shit to figure out with him – but if the asshole raises even a finger to her, he’s dead.

            Standing at the doorway, he meets eyes with another bouncer – Jasper, maybe. He nods to the guy and strains to look out the glass panel on the door, to keep an eye on Clarke and Finn.

            “You good, man? I’m Jasper, by the way,” says the tall skinny kid. Bellamy glances at him.

            “You just let her storm right out of here to go talk to that piece of crap?” Bellamy replies, nodding his head to the outside. He can’t see either of them.

            “Look, dude – Bellamy? – Clarke does whatever the hell she wants. It’s not a matter of me _letting her_ do anything. You’ve been here like two days? You should probably already know that by now,” says Jasper.

            “I’m going out there,” Bellamy says.

            “Good luck, dude. Finn’s dangerous.”

            “I know,” Bellamy responds. He knows more than most. Bellamy pushes out the door to go find Clarke – and to stop Finn from whatever he’s planning.

***

 

            Clarke finds Finn in the alley between the Ark and the next building over. Her embarrassment from moments ago has now been burned away by her rage. She wants her dad’s watch, and she wants Finn gone.

            “Finn!” she shouts at his silhouetted figure leaning back against the brick side of the bar. He moves away from the wall when he hears her voice. She stomps toward him.

            “Clarke, I—”

            “Shut up and give me the watch,” she knows that she should be afraid of him after all he’s done, but she’s too angry to care. Recklessness fills her. She’s not afraid. Her footsteps stomp toward him until only a few feet separate them. As she examines him, she realizes that Monty was right – he’s wasted. His hair is a mess, his eyes are manic, and he’s swaying on his feet. He’s volatile. Her father’s watch dangles from his left hand.

            “Let me just say –”

            “No!” she shouts, “You’ve said – and done – enough. It is over. 100% over and done. Just give me the watch and get the hell out of my face.” She knows she shouldn’t yell at him – knows what could happen if she does, but it’s too late now. When the words leave her, fear creeps into her bloodstream,.

            For a minute, Finn doesn’t say anything, still swaying from one foot to the other. And then, it’s as if he snaps back to reality.

            “Stop!” Clarke shouts as Finn grabs for her arms. He shoves her against the rough brick of the building, his fingernails digging into her skin. He pushes her back, holding her in place. He’s more forceful when he’s drunk. Clarke feels pressure build up in her upper arms.

            “Clarke, I just, I don’t get it, okay?!” he screams at her. “How did… how did this get so fucked up?”

            His eyes seem genuine, through the haze of alcohol. Clarke can almost see the man he used to be, the guy who would surprise her with coffee and stay up late and watch double features with her. She can remember the old Finn. He’s too far gone now, staring at her desperately.

            “Finn, let me go,” her words come out breathy. She can’t seem to get any air, but maybe she can talk him down before things escalate. “Listen, Finn, it just isn’t working between us anymore. You’ve changed, and I want you to let me go and leave. Now.”

            “ _I’ve_ changed?” he screams. Shit. He’s out of control, and she’s lost him. All of the sanity that remained in his expression is now gone. His head tilts to the side. Clarke chokes on breath, and the bare skin of her shoulders scrapes against the brick.

            “Please,” is the only thing that escapes Clarke’s lips before the back of Finn’s hand smacks across her cheek, only worsening the pain of the scratches from earlier.

            He shoves her harder into the brick and grabs her chin with one hand.

            “You’re damaged goods, Clarke. You think anyone is going to want you now? That bouncer? You belong to me, even if we’re not together. Everyone knows that,” he says, his face very close to hers. Tears stream down her cheeks, but she still spits in his face – a mix of saliva and blood.

            “Get away from me,” she says. He screams right into her face, and his hand reaches for her throat.

            Before it gets there, though, Finn is gone from in front of her. He hits the concrete, someone else on top of him.

            The dim streetlights don’t illuminate much, but Clarke sees muscled arms and a mop of dark, wavy hair.

            “Bellamy,” she breathes, fear mixing with relief inside her stomach. Bellamy has Finn pinned under his own body, forearm pressing against Finn’s throat. Finn struggles against his hold, but can’t free himself. Only once, Bellamy’s fist comes down and strikes Finn across the cheek. Clarke, still shocked and leaning heavily on the brick wall, watches as Bellamy raises his hand again but hesitates. He drops his arm and stands.

            “You’re not worth it,” Bellamy says at Finn, staring daggers at the boy on the ground. “Stay the hell away from Clarke, or you won’t survive the next time we meet.”

            Without a word to Bellamy or Clarke, Finn scrambles to his feet and scurries down the alley toward his car.

            He’s gone. Finally.

            Clarke sags against to brick wall, adrenaline leaving her system. She puts her hand up to her face to feel the bruise forming there. In seconds, Bellamy stands in front of her, face full of worry. Clarke can’t stand it. She hates him seeing her like this. No matter how much she tried to hide all of this, she should have known people would find out anyway.

            Her knees buckle and she sinks to the concrete. Bellamy crouches down in front of her, straining down to look at her face. She can feel the heat of his body warming her in the cool evening air.

            “Clarke,” he says quietly, “Can I… can I touch you? I just want to see if you’re okay, to see your face, and look at that bruise.” For a moment, Clarke studies the ground. Tears blur her vision. She raises her face up to Bellamy’s. Blinking away tears, she looks into his deep brown eyes.

            A sad smile flashes across Bellamy’s features. “May I?” he asks her quietly. She nods, even the small movement hurting her head.

            What the hell just happened? Clarke can barely process the night's events.

            Bellamy’s fingers brush her chin, carefully moving her head left, then right. His eyes roam over the scratches that Finn put there, along with the now-forming bruise.

            He brushes a few of her blonde strands out of her face and tucks them behind her ear. That gentle movement breaks a dam within Clarke, and she cries hard. All that’s left of her is broken remains. When she goes to wipe away tears, it hurts. Everything hurts.

            Bellamy sits down across from her on the pavement and pulls out his phone. Clarke sees this and freezes.

            “I don’t want to call the police. And I don’t want to go to the hospital,” she says, sniffing.

            “Are you sure? A hospital can really help you, Clarke,” he says, and waits for her answer.

            “Yes. I’m sure,” she says. She lets her head fall back against the brick wall, exhausted. Bellamy pulls the phone up to his ear.

            “I said NO!” she shouts, reaching for him.

            “Hey hey hey…” he says, pulling back, “I’m calling Roan – Roan? It’s Bellamy. Clarke had a bit of an emergency, and I’m going to take her home. She’s alright…. yeah…. yeah, I’m sorry…. okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

            He hangs up the phone and glances back at Clarke.

            “Sorry,” she says, sniffing again. How was she supposed to know he wasn’t calling the cops? “And… thanks.” Bellamy nods. For a moment, they sit in silence. Then, Bellamy holds out his hand.

            “Can I take you home, Clarke? Are you sure you want to be alone right now?” tentatively, she takes his large hand, and he pulls her up slowly. Her back must have several cuts in it from the brick wall, because she feels wounds open up as he helps her stand. She hisses at the pain.

            “I don’t really want to be alone,” she confesses. Bellamy glances over her back and examines her shoulders.

            “Clarke, you need medical attention. Are you sure I can’t –”

            “Yes, I’m sure, okay?”

            “Then can I take you to my apartment? I can help you with the cuts on your back and we can get some ice for you. Is that… would that be okay?”

            After a moment of hesitation, Clarke nods. She can’t hide this anymore, and maybe sharing with Bellamy can help her prepare to tell Raven.

            “Okay, then, my car’s out front whenever you’re ready. Oh! I almost forgot,” he says, stooping to the concrete to pick something up.

            When he straightens up, he’s holding her father’s watch.

            Clarke holds it in her thin fingers the entire car ride to his apartment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! So sorry this took a while! I took a break for the holidays, and then had a surgery, and then school started back up again, so I've been pretty busy! But I'm back, and excited to be writing again! I'm thinking this fic will be 13-15 chapters, just so you all know! I might make it a bit longer, but we'll see. Thank you for reading, and as always, comment!! Tell me what you think! Let me know any suggestions you have!! Love you guys!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! I'm trying a new fic to get back into regular writing. Let me know what you think, I LOVE comments! Thanks, and I hope I put enough trigger warnings. If not, please let me know and I will adjust. Always open to suggestions. Thank you for your feedback!


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